


Any Day (But Sunday)

by indistinct_echo



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Religious Undertones, Suicidal Thoughts, Superstition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indistinct_echo/pseuds/indistinct_echo
Summary: Phil confronts his superstition of cutting his nails on Sunday. Rejecting tradition is never as easy as it seems.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. It’s not like he even really believes in it anymore. But somehow. Somehow, this one tiny, inconsequential remnant of his childhood is so difficult for him to let go.

Even after all of these years. Even after he did the soul-searching and concluded that it is more harmful than helpful. There is still something holding him back.

He can think about it logically, like Dan’s helped him to do, but it’s not an issue of logic. And, to someone as cynical about these kind of things as Dan tends to be, the concept that logic isn’t driving his feelings on this matter is incomprehensible.

So, Dan doesn’t get it. That’s fine, Phil tells himself, even if deep down the bite of being misunderstood still stings.

But how is Phil supposed to explain the fear of doing something that he knows is okay but still feels so wrong? How is Phil supposed to help his terror make sense to someone else when even to him it doesn’t?

It’s not like he actually thinks that he will go to hell for doing this; he isn’t even sure he really believes in hell, at all. But, even so, he knows that if someone were to ask him – “Just what are you so afraid of?” – and he happened to be caught off guard, the first words past his lips would be, “I’m afraid of going to hell.”

It’s certainly not the answer he’d give if he thought about it for more than a moment, certainly not the answer he’d give when trying to explain it to someone in the hopes they’d take it – and him – seriously. It’s maybe one of the only answers which he thinks he’ll never reveal to Dan, no matter how many times Dan pesters him.

It’s almost shameful, he thinks, to be so afraid of hell.

At his age, with his sexuality – there are so many reasons why he shouldn’t give much credence to the concept. It’s not like it has ever done him much good; it was the tiny flicker of guilt in the back of his mind during his first kiss with a boy, it was the anxious thrum of his heart as he sat with his more religious cousins at Christmas dinner, it was the brief attempt to pray away one of the most crucial aspects of his identity.

It doesn’t serve Phil well to believe in hell. So, most of the time, he just doesn’t, or, at the very least, is better at pretending to himself that he doesn’t.

But this. This brings all of those negative feelings to the forefront. Dredges up old fears and guilt, spins webs in his mind that block his view of anything else.

This isn’t even a religious thing. It’s just a silly superstition, and he knows that. He knows, he knows, he knows.

And yet.

Phil sighs.

He’s been staring at the bathroom counter for what must be quite a few minutes by now. Staring at the tiny metal contraption that is oh so harmless any other day of the week. Most other days he probably wouldn’t even have noticed it was there; for all he knows, it’s been sitting on the counter possibly even since last Monday.

Because he knows where it was last Sunday, of course, the same way he knows where it’s been every Sunday before that. He knows because he is the one that moves it, like a strange, hidden ritual that only Phil and the reflection in the bathroom mirror uphold.

To break that tradition feels blasphemous, and though the reflection in the mirror is his own, it is still too great an audience. He can barely even let himself think about the possibility: the damning fantasy that he might, for just one week, do something different.

He hasn’t broken any rules, yet shame twists in his gut. It’s nauseating. Acidic embarrassment curdles in his stomach and burns his throat.

Phil knows there is only one remedy.

He opens the medicine cabinet – distorting the reflection of his defeated eyes and wry smile – and, with muscle memory he never hoped to gain but now can't bear to live without, he picks up the nail clipper, places it gently on the shelf, and quickly closes the cabinet door.

Phil exhales. He’s just ensured he’ll be safe from the devil for the coming week.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey,” Dan says, walking into the living room. The curls of his hair are dark and wet. Errant drops of water create a similarly dark patch around the collar of his night shirt.

Phil looks up at him and smiles.

“Look who is finally awake,” he says fondly.

Dan huffs out a laugh.

“It’s not even that late, and I’ve already showered.”

Phil lets his face twist into the tiniest bit of a smirk. They’ve discussed Dan’s frequency to unnecessarily rush to his own defense, to justify his actions, his thoughts, _himself_ even when there is no trial. And, while Phil doesn’t particularly mind – he’s long since realized Dan’s combative instincts are not a reflection of any _real_ tension between them – he knows Dan would want to be made aware of his lapse into habit.

Given how well they know each other, Phil raising his eyebrows as he lifts one corner of his mouth is enough to send the message.

“Damn.”

There’s a pause, and Phil wonders if he should attempt to offer reassurance. But as he struggles to construct a phrase that is both heartfelt and grounding, he loses his opportunity; the moment breaks when Dan shrugs and ambles over to the couch, plopping down next to Phil without any sort of feigned grace.

It is not often that Dan is able to be so nonchalant about his failures. And, while Phil recognizes this isn’t a major failure by any stretch of the imagination, he knows that Dan’s mind has the uncanny ability to contort any misstep into a blunder that feels near fatal.

Phil looks over at Dan, searching for cracks in his casual disregard. He doesn’t find any.

Nevertheless, Phil reaches out and begins to soothingly comb his fingers through Dan’s hair. Even though he couldn’t provide verbal comfort, Phil is never at a loss for words when speaking with his hands. Fingers become whispers, caresses—sentences that wrap around them both.

Dan hums a warm sigh, leaning his head against Phil’s shoulder.

“Good shower?” Phil asks, twirling a damp lock around one finger.

“Mm, yeah, very thorough.”

Phil breathes out a half-snort. “Good to know.”

It’s been a few days since they last _anything-ed_. And quite a bit longer than that since they had actual penetrative sex. Maybe they’re becoming complacent or maybe they’re just getting older, but it’s rare these days that they’re both up for the prep and the mess when a handjob or the occasional blowjob is more than enough.

But today is a good day for it. And if Dan already did the prep... Phil can feel the beginnings of arousal, teasing heat swooping down towards his groin.

“Now?” he asks, already swept up in the fantasy of what’s to come. Hands and lips and warmth and passion. Anticipation builds with the gentle swell against the zipper of his jeans.

Dan shakes his head.

“You’ve haven’t cut your nails since last time, yeah?”

The hand in Dan’s hair stills, and Phil thinks his heart does the same. He’s been in this situation enough times to know comes next, but he desperately hopes he’s wrong. There’s a sudden lump in his throat. He nods mutely.

“Ok, so clip them, and then we can.”

Blood rushes through his head, and Phil hears the sound of his rapid pulse in his ears and feels the redness of his blush color his cheeks. What was formerly arousal is now a knot in the pit of his stomach. Everything seems hazy and out of focus.

Phil swallows.

“I can’t,” he whispers. He can feel the movement of Dan’s head as he turns to look over at Phil. “It’s Sunday.”

Dan gives him a long look, and Phil attempts to meet his gaze. Embarrassment squeezes the breath from his chest and makes him want to curl into himself. He hopes Dan doesn’t notice the wetness at the corners of his eyes.

“Ok,” Dan says. He gives a reassuring smile and drops a hand to gently squeeze Phil’s knee. “I’ll open myself, and you can watch.”

Phil’s vision blurs, and he closes his eyes to prevent any tears from falling. The salty sting burns against his eyelids.

 _‘This isn’t fair,’_ he thinks. He doesn’t want Dan to have to make accommodations. He doesn’t want the pity he is sure lurks somewhere far behind Dan’s comforting façade.

It’s embarrassing to admit, even to Dan, the extent to which this superstition bears on his consciousness, how entangled it is with his identity. Phil can’t tell whether it’s shame or misplaced pride that makes it so difficult to confess that this twisted tradition is too heavy for him to overthrow.

A traitorous tear slips hot and wet down his cheek. He looks up and blinks rapidly. It’s just as much to try to prevent more tears as it is to avoid Dan’s concerned expression.

Phil slowly inhales a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the ceiling. Dan’s hand squeezes Phil’s leg tighter. “I’m not really sure why I’m crying.”

“This is important to you,” Dan says softly.

Phil mulls over his words. Dan isn’t saying that Phil is overreacting or even trying to soothe his tears. He is acknowledging the weight without condemnation, and that’s not something Phil, himself, has ever managed to accomplish. And the way Dan says it, like there’s nothing wrong with Phil for being so caught up in what is, perhaps, a meaningless superstition, makes owning up to his words easy.

He turns to face Dan.

“Yeah,” he says with a sad smile, “it is.”


	3. Chapter 3

The pungent, alcoholic smell of nail polish assaults Phil as he enters the flat. He can hear Martyn’s voice in the lounge and takes the steps two at a time to find him, Cornelia, and Dan perched on various pieces of furniture around the room.

Phil feels a burst of warmth at the sight, but his brows furrow, and he slips his phone out of his pocket to see if he’s missed some notice of this unexpected visit. The screen brightens to show an unread message from Cornelia and three from Martyn. Cornelia’s reads, “Was thinking about you today, can Mar and I stop by?” and Phil can’t help but notice how it contrasts with Martyn’s texts: “we’re heading over to you at some point later, k thanks,” “on our way,” and “HERE.”

Phil steps further into the lounge, and Cornelia turns her head to smile at him without moving her body. Her still hands rest on Dan’s knees as he attempts to color her nails dark. It’s so _familiar,_ and his heart clenches in the way that it’s been doing quite a lot, lately.

His family just somehow keeps getting it _right_ , saying and doing exactly what Phil needs to prove to his anxious brain that the people he loves really do accept him, even when he isn’t quite sure whether the ‘him’ he needs them to accept is Dan or himself. Regardless, actions like this calm the inner chaos; Phil’s family accepts _them,_ and that means everything.

After Dan looks appraisingly at Cornelia’s hands and nods once, he turns to Phil with crinkles at his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm and affectionate.

That’s a recent development. Phil knows that it’s difficult for Dan to not instinctively hide the feelings in his voice around Phil’s family, especially around Martyn. Something about the hard-to-shake need to appear to be a certain kind of masculine in his presence, despite Martyn, himself, being anything but the classic laddish type.

Even so, Phil finds himself a bit shocked when Martyn gets up, swaps places with Cornelia, turns to Dan, and asks, “What color do you think would look best?”

Dan decides on a deep green polish and starts to inspect Martyn’s nails, probably checking for dirt or pre-existing color. Phil fights the urge to comment that it’s highly unlikely Martyn’s ever worn nail polish before; it’s not as easy for him as it seems to be for Dan to forget all of the arbitrary gender rules that he’s been implicitly taught to consider as fact. But he’s trying, and maybe that’s what Martyn is doing too. Or maybe he just likes nail polish. It’s not really a topic they’ve ever discussed.

But then Dan taps one of the nails on Martyn’s left hand and says, “This one looks kind of sharp. Do you want to file it?”

Martyn shrugs. “Sure.”

He begins to rummage through the plastic bag that holds Dan’s nail supplies and eventually pulls out a small nail clipper rather than an emery board.

‘What a straight boy thing to do,’ Phil thinks.

It takes him a minute to catch himself, and, when he does, his eyes go wide and he looks quickly between the other people in the room, irrationally worried they can hear inside his head. He’d rather chastise himself than have Cornelia look at him with sad eyes or see Dan flinch. Maybe even Martyn would have something to say about Phil’s slip into antiquated stereotypes.

Phil’s mind gets stuck tripping over itself but then he hears a tiny little “ _click,_ ” and his eyes go straight to Martyn, sitting as casually as he had been a moment ago, cutting his nail shorter without any fanfare. His nonchalance is off-putting, but Phil isn’t exactly sure why until he hears the second click of the nail clipper.

It’s a quiet sound, but Phil staggers backwards with the weight of what it means. Emotions rip through him at a dizzying speed, and he tries to separate them into distinct feelings.

The easiest one to decipher is anger. How _dare_ Martyn just throw away this tradition that they were both raised to uphold. This is important to their mother and, therefore, is important to them. To break tradition is to let go of the past, and who does Martyn think he is to break away from their family?

But that’s not all, Phil realizes, because he knows he doesn’t actually have much stake in which days of the week Martyn does or does not cut his nails. It’s not like he even believes in the superstition, and he’s certainly never been one to tell others how to live. But something about Martyn so easily breaking free from the ties with which Phil, himself, struggles just _hurts_.

And maybe that’s because the best way to describe the next emotion is… jealousy. He can’t understand how it’s possible for Martyn to not even bat an eye while Phil nearly has a breakdown in the middle of the room – and he’s not even the one doing anything “wrong.”

It is not often that Phil find himself envious of someone else, but perhaps the fact that it’s his brother makes him feel a little more okay about it. Because he wishes that, even for a moment, _he_ were the one who could be so blasé about detangling himself from this whole mess, that he were the one who could walk away without getting caught up in the vines of tradition and expectation and religion.

Phil is always the one left behind, always the one known for being _good._ He is the one, not Martyn, who sticks to things, even when they get difficult and confusing.

And maybe he does still take pride in that, feels a little self-righteous that he is able to adhere to the rules even though they do not serve him anymore. It certainly seems that Martyn cannot do the same, cannot put aside his own interests for the sake of the greater good. But Phil can, and he does.

He doesn’t look down on Martyn for abandoning this superstition, he really doesn’t, but there’s an insistent part of Phil that feels just the tiniest bit of pride for shouldering this weight when even his older brother is unable. 

So, Phil stands just a little straighter, and he prays – to _whatever_ is out there – that nobody be able to hear his sinful thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil knows that, someday, he is going to break. He doesn’t bother trying to fool himself into believing that he will be strong enough to fight these urges forever. He isn’t naïve enough to think this will eventually fade into the background of his consciousness and become merely a quirk – something that never hurts anyone and therefore is unnecessary to overcome. He knows that’s what it should be. Just a quirk.

Dan would be okay with that; he’s certainly taken all of Phil’s other quirks in stride.

Mum would be okay with that – even she doesn’t seem to fret about this superstition in the way that Phil does. If it was just something he upheld, even if it didn’t mean much, Phil thinks that would be enough for him to still be able to look her in the eye.

But he isn’t strong enough.

One day, he will break. And then he will go to hell.

These are two facts that he knows, and, no matter how he tries to connect the dots, two points always make a straight line.

The thought is terrifying, knowing that he will be the one damning himself, that it will be his weakness that ruins the good life he’s worked so hard to build. He can’t _not_ anguish over the fact that, because he can’t let this go, he is going to lose everything.

And it’s crazy because this isn’t even important.

Maybe, if this were about his sexuality, he could forgive this obsession and cultivate self-compassion; he certainly doesn’t _want_ what he thinks is right to become so twisted in his mind so as to feel entirely wrong. Maybe, if this were about him not going to church anymore, he’d consider the guilt he feels to be warranted.

But this is not about either of those things. And yet, here he is. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, not recognizing his reflection, and wondering – if he’s going to hell anyways, why should he give himself more opportunities to sin? If he gives into his desires once, surely he’ll do so a second time. And a third. And more.

And then not only will he not be able to look at his mother, but he won’t be able to face himself.

Phil can, however, preempt all of this. Make it so he leaves his world with a clean slate, letting only his very last act mar his clean record.

The nail clipper is not the only thing they keep in this medicine cabinet.

-

“Dan?”

The sound of his footsteps gets louder, the doorknob turns, and then Dan is standing in the doorway. He smiles at the not-Phil in the mirror. Not-Phil is somehow better at holding eye contact than Phil thinks it has any right to be.

“Can we talk?” he asks in a voice that’s barely louder than a whisper. The lump in his throat makes it feel like he’s screaming.

“Sure,” Dan says gently, though his eyebrows furrow. “Couch?”

Phil’s thoughts feel more clear, more tangible, more _real_ when he leaves the bathroom, no longer breathing the same stale air that he’d been inhaling for the past hour.

They stay quiet as they walk to the couch. They stay quiet as they sit. They stay quiet as Dan looks at Phil, and Phil pretends that his gaze doesn’t burn.

It’s helpful, this silence. Phil doesn’t know if he can handle any more noise than the chaos rattling around his brain. The silence gives him time to try and organize the mess, to figure out what he actually wants to say. He’d only gotten so far as to realize he definitely should not stay in that bathroom before urgently calling for Dan. He hadn’t come up with a plan for what to do once they made it out.

Phil recognizes that he has to do this correctly; this is delicate. And, while it’s true that Dan has never actually _said_ anything to make him think so, somewhere deep within Phil’s battered soul there’s an insistent voice that warns him to tread lightly, to recognize that, by trying to put a bandage over his problems, he might be reopening some of Dan’s old wounds.

It feels almost selfish to ask this of Dan, to ensnare him in Phil’s inner turmoil. But what other option does he have? It’s the question with which Phil struggles in many areas, it seems.

But asking the question is better than not being here to ask at all, and so he lets himself take the only road that, although wholeheartedly terrifying, is not in the least deadly – the one where he tells Dan everything.


	5. Chapter 5

“Do you ever feel like it’s impossible to be perfect?”

Phil recognizes how stupid the words sound as soon as they leave his mouth. He knows perfection is impossible; he’s said as much to Dan on the occasions that they argued about a video detail that nobody but they would notice. But Phil doesn’t want to backtrack, doesn’t want to force the words back into his overcrowded skull. He’ll take whatever words come, at this point.

Dan props his chin up onto his fists, elbows pressing into the flesh of his thighs. “Yeah, sometimes.”

It’s not much of an answer, at least not for what Phil is trying to get at. He struggles for a moment, trying to figure out how to express his thoughts without actually voicing them.

“So, how do you” – Phil waves a hand into the air – “cope?”

“Cope?”

The innocent tone with which Dan asks makes Phil sure that he hasn’t quite been understood. He tries again.

“If you – I, anyone – can’t get it all right, what’s the point? Aren’t we damned either way?”

Phil’s eyes widen; he hadn’t meant to ask the second part. The question is too vulnerable, too revealing, too indicative of the dark nature of his thoughts. But Dan just squints.

“I’m sorry, love, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Phil can’t remember ever feeling more alone. His eyes start to sting, and he looks away from Dan as he exhales shakily, trying to wrack his brain for a different way explain this whole mess.

“Hey,” Dan says gently, reaching a hand to rest on Phil’s knee, “I want to understand, it might just take me some time to get there.”

Phil nods, eyes still trained on the wall across the room.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. “Not such good thoughts.”

He feels Dan squeeze his knee. The comfort of his touch gives Phil the courage to look back at him.

“I keep getting _stuck_. No matter how I think about everything – the good things I have in my life, the things I need to do to keep it all – my thoughts end up in the same place: the inevitability of my failure. Either I won’t be able to get everything right despite trying my hardest or, in the process of successfully doing all that I need to, I’ll destroy my mental health.”

Phil takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to admit.

“Regardless, I don’t think I’ll be able to survive it.”

The words themselves don’t really mean much; it’s the kind of language used in jokes far too often to necessarily imply what Phil is attempting to convey. But even this feels uncomfortably honest and is likely too close to the edges of Dan’s nebulous sensitivities.

Dan audibly inhales. His face changes immediately, and, to Phil’s relief, it doesn’t look like judgement or pity. For the first time today, he sees understanding in Dan’s warm, brown eyes.

Dan’s voice is rushed and almost eager as he asks, “Do you want to talk to someone about this? I can help you set it up.”

Phil nudges Dan’s leg with a socked foot. “I’m trying to talk to you, silly.”

Dan rolls his eyes even as he smiles softly. “You know what I mean, and we can discuss it later. Can you tell me about it?”

The ‘it’ isn’t specified but the meaning is clear enough to both of them.

There are so many ways for Phil to go about this conversation, so many ways he’s considered sharing it all with Dan before. But everything he’s thought to say suddenly doesn’t seem _comprehensive_ enough because, if Phil really thinks about it, this is bigger than just cutting or not cutting his nails.

It’s even bigger than tradition, if Phil allows himself to admit that his insistence on its importance is nothing more than an attempt to feign validity for practices he has no way of justifying in their own right.

What was likely meant to be a minor superstition has somehow contorted itself into a creature that can’t be defeated by thought or reason. It’s why Phil needs this conversation – he is not capable, on his own, of thinking himself out of this anxious spiral not bound by logic.

So, even though it might make him sound naïve, he says what he feels instead of what he thinks.

“I’m really fucking scared of going to hell.”

Although telling the truth is supposedly freeing, the weight of this particular admission drowns him in the shame it yields. Phil watches Dan’s face carefully, looking for any hints of the rejection he is almost too sure will come.

But the problem with looking for a sign is that he can always find one, even if only in the split second where Dan reacts involuntarily before managing to smooth his face into an expression a lot less… disparaging. But Phil knows what Dan really thinks, even if he tries to hide it.

“I know it’s ridiculous, okay. Hell doesn’t exist.” ~~~~

“The only thing that’s ridiculous,” Dan says, “is that you didn’t talk to me about this earlier.”

Phil recognizes that Dan is trying to lighten to mood, to tease him gently, but his words sting like a slap to the face.

“That’s not fair,” he says, hurt seeping into his tone.

“You’re right.”

Phil scoffs. It’s a bitter sound. “You don’t have to agree with everything I say.”

“Yeah, but it’s true, and the fact that, for some reason, you felt like you _couldn’t_ talk to me about it before should be enough to clue me in to shut up and listen.”

“You don’t have to just shut up,” Phil says, wincing; he doesn’t want to make Dan sit here and listen to him complain all afternoon.

“I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything,” Dan says, “and, for that to happen, I need to make that as easy for you as I can.” He takes Phil’s hands in his own. “I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

His voice turns up into an almost-question at the end, like he’s worried he’s already messed up and is asking for permission to stay. Phil intertwines his fingers with Dan’s.

“I know you don’t believe in all of this stuff, and that’s okay, I think. I’m not sure I really believe in it either. But it still has a power over me that I don’t really like to admit. That’s why I didn’t want to talk to you about it. I felt – feel – ashamed for being so beholden to a religion that I’ve, at least outwardly, left behind, and, at the same time, feel guilty for even questioning everything in the first place.”

Dan, to his credit, stays quiet. Phil is thankful that he does, even though he recognizes that, in actuality, it only makes things more difficult for him. It would certainly be safer to shift his focus towards whatever sparkling facet of thought most caught Dan’s interest rather than delving deeper into the rocky, menacing terrain of his subconscious.

But nothing about this conversation was ever intended to be safe. So, Phil pushes through the anxieties that are fighting to keep him silent, words spilling from his lips before he even really has time to think them through.

“And you already having figured that out for yourself only made it harder.”

Dan recoils, and Phil knows he’s accidentally misspoken, triggered the defensiveness that is sometimes so difficult to keep under wraps.

“Not that it’s your fault at all,” he quickly adds. “It’s just… what if we came to different conclusions? Any time I tried to think about my stance on all of this spirituality stuff, it felt like I was playing catch-up and had no choice but to make the same decisions you did and think in the same way.”

“And, the thing is—” Phil takes a deep breath “—I _don’t_ think the same things, or at least not in the same ways or for the same reasons. And that’s terrifying to me. It makes my thoughts feel unsafe, like they’re a dirty secret and I shouldn’t tell you about them.”

He smiles sadly. “Because all of this _does_ , for some reason, matter to me, even if it really isn’t a ‘faith’ thing, per se.”

There’s more for him to explain – there always is – but this feels like a start. He maybe hasn’t said everything in the perfect order and is instead checkerboarding his way through some imaginary list claiming the proper way to open up. But even this one step forward feels courageous in this twisted hopscotch game of anxieties and sensitives and the struggle to be understood.

Now it’s Dan’s turn to pick up the pebble, and Phil can only hope that he lands on some of the same boxes; he’d give anything to not have to continue on from here alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reblog this chapter [here](https://indistinct-echo.tumblr.com/post/617762873854312448/any-day-but-sunday) :)

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on [tumblr](https://indistinct-echo.tumblr.com/post/617123871639977984/any-day-but-sunday)!


End file.
